My Affinity For Trees

When I photograph the landscape, the trees are the most profound models. Their twisted shapes tease my spiritual universe, manifesting great feelings to my heart. When I see the shapes of trees, and stand in their shadows, and touch the bark of slithering branches, I respect the intelligence and kindness that whispers softly from those fleshy-wooden centers. They seem to communicate with compassion. They love life in unconditional ways; great peacemakers in a hardened, troubled world; patient creatures, with the greatest definition of understanding. I?ve wanted to emulate their calmness, but I envy their beauty. Cemented in one place, they grow so wise and bountiful; those roots crawl so deep. They are so clever; that white painted Aspen, that rustic pine, and every other wooden spirit.

It was a cabin in the wilderness, where a Tree Man discovered my sorrow, and the clouds and wind never stopped. He called himself the Dream-maker, and was full of wordless resonance. I spoke with the wooden mind carefully, its heart was quite a spook; It so skillfully-artistically studied my vision. Noon dripped from the pines like butter. The visitor was so hard to learn. While the ground around him was dark like ravens? it was his thrown of beauty. The sky palace above was sweet as flowers in a young meadow. Soon he left the ancient cabin and strutted like an old fellow bent with pain; dressed like a three-hundred year old hobo, a hermit ghost in organic rags. If you ever gazed into the eyes of this beholder, the compassion was more elder then humans. In the end he became a tree. For the sun in a quiet world is the peace of such rest and stillness.